Fallen Heart
by Whyntir
Summary: Why does Russia's heart fall from his chest? What event in such an extensive history of blood and conquest could have possibly stood out so far as to pull the nation's heart from his chest? And can it ever be healed? T for mild sexual scenes and history.
1. Russia and the Romanovs

**A/N: This is an idea of why Russia's heart falls from his chest. My head canon doesn't need to be yours. Sadly, I am a Russian history nut, so we jump in time all over the place. We begin in 1911, go back to 1904, make a sprint to 1547 and move forward from there. Though this is supposed to be mainly a reason why Russia's heart falls from his chest, it really goes off on a tangent and follows Ivan through his life and the change to the Soviet Union. Also, why the Romanov family lasted for so long until the death of **_**Russia**_**, so yeah. And how they change Ivan into the greatest world power until the end. So, I hope you can keep up ^^;

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Ivan stood behind the Tsar's chair as his boss watched the dancing on the ballroom floor. He could see the girls dancing, playing. They smiled with utter joy. Ivan loved those smiles; they made him know that there was still something to live for in this world of pain and death. Even Nikolay II smiled gently to himself as the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova danced with her younger brother Alexei Nikolaevich. The two got along very well, but everyone pampered the Tsesarevich due to his illness. Alexei wasn't a very good child however, he was quite the brat. Still, they all cherished him, for he was the only boy. But not only that, he was special. When he was well, as he was now, everything was so much brighter. The boy carried his own sun.

Tonight was a formal dinner party and some relatives had come to visit. Tsar Nikolay wore his formal attire of a midnight blue military uniform. He didn't wear his medals or sashes, but he kept his gold bullions for the occasion. He was always able to appear elegant and composed, despite whatever situation.

Ivan wore his own military uniform, but the entire outfit, the hat held stiffly in his hand as he stood at attention. Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna sat to his right. She watched her seven year old son with that worried gleam. She would glance back at him once in a while, just to make sure that her son was truly okay. Only the immediate Imperial family knew that little secret.

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_August, 1904_

Ivan watched the child curiously. He seemed healthy enough, but what was the feeling in his chest that sent warning signals through his entire body? The child had a few bruises, but that was to be expected. Children always bumped against things and he would heal. Or at least he should have been healing. Actually he appeared worse. The baby would cry and flail and bruise and it wouldn't get better. He turned to the daughters of the Tsar's.

"Olga, please make sure he doesn't get any worse. I am going to find your mother." The girl nodded and intently watched the child.

Ivan left the room, traveling far due to his long legs. As he descended the stairs, he heard a second patter of feet behind him. He turned to see three year old Anastasia following after him. "Mr. Ivan is there something wrong with Alexei?" she asked in her baby voice. She had always enjoyed his company since she was a baby, now she looked up to him for almost everything.

"I am not sure what may be wrong, but he isn't getting better. So yes, something isn't right," he told her in a gentle voice. He felt her tiny hand clutch onto his gloved finger. The young Grand Duchess was adorable and held a special place in his heart. Her big blue eyes looked up at him in a child's display of understanding. Ivan blushed slightly, noticing the small girl was having much difficulty keeping up with him, especially with her deformed left foot. Nimbly, he lifted her up and placed her on his shoulder. She giggled wildly from her height.

Once Ivan found the Tsar and his wife, he slid the child off his shoulder and placed her on the ground so she could go where she pleased. Once the Grand Duchess had disappeared from view, he turned to the two rulers, "The Tsesarevich isn't clotting as he is supposed to. I believe it is an illness." His eyes rested upon the Tsarevna. He wasn't ignorant of her blood's curse. How did he ever allow her to talk him into this?

As he said the news, he could see the fear in her eyes, "A-are you sure?" Much of her family had died thanks to her rotten, English blood. World be damned if Ivan would let that happen to his only male heir.

"Yes, I am." She hurried from the room to her child. World be damned if _she'd_ let her only son die.

Nikolay stepped beside him, watching his wife hurry off, "How long did you know old friend?"

"I've had this feeling since he was conceived, but after his birth it has just been growing stronger," he looked down to the Tsar, "It's her bad blood you know. Spain suffered from it, Germany as well. There were others you could have chosen."

"It isn't your choice in that respect Ivan," he snapped. With that he disappeared. Violet eyes narrowed in annoyance. All these years of waiting for a boy, of doing _every measure_ they possibly could, only to have that woman's bad blood ruin it. And by now her entire body was infected with the disorder. No other male heirs would come about. This was their only chance.

Still, it wasn't as though Ivan had never been headed by a woman before. Elizabeth had forced him to acknowledge her superiority, in many more ways than one would like to retell. Still, this woman was _not_ Elizabeth. Elizabeth died.

He sighed, how had he become so wrapped up into the fate of the lives of the Romanovs?


	2. One of Russia

**A/N: This was supposed to be one long piece of literature, but I HAD to cut it down. This isn't so bad I hope. Please tell me what you think.**

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_1547_

Ivan the Awesome stood beside him. Today the Tsar was to look over the many spouses he was to select from and had invited Muscovy as his adviser. After all, whoever married the Tsar was also the Consort to Muscovy. But as the eligible daughters of all the nobles in the expanded land of Russia, the country felt his heart sink. There were just so _many_. It was impossible to go through every one. The mass was too large to spend the time counting. He turned to the Tsar who also looked a little daunted.

"Well," Ivan said gracing his features with a weary smile, "Let's begin, shall we?"

So many girls, but none that he could approve of. Whenever one perked Ivan VI interest, he'd look to the nation to see his opinion. A simple nod would have ended it, but he truly wanted the best for himself and his ruler. This man had granted him almost equal strength and they did converse as friends. The assistant that followed them down the line announced each girl's name.

"Anastasia Romanovna, daughter of Roman Yurievich Zakharyin-Yuriev, Okolnichi."

As she stepped forward, Muscovy's breath caught in his throat. She was utterly breath-taking in her beauty Ivan looked to him with that hopeful look of a child that he had worn so long ago. Numbly, the country nodded his head once. She was perfect.

This was the way things were back then: After the wedding, the first night would be placed with the newly-weds. The next would be spent with the taken wife (Or husband in later years) becoming acquainted _closely_ with the country. Every country went through the process. England, Germany, France. This was just the way things were. And Muscovy was no different. Though he only appeared to be seventeen, he was already well adept within this field.

His night with Anastasia was a heated one. Despite what many countries felt for their leader's choice in a mate, Muscovy was quite fond of her. She calmed the Tsar and he behaved himself in her presence. It was a good change from what anyone could seen, even himself. And that was not to be their only night together. It was an ongoing affair that the Tsar was not known to. If he was, Muscovy would have burned for betraying the man's friendship.

After one of their affairs, Ivan lay beside her, and held her in a strong embrace, his fingers trailing her delicate skin of her stomach. She smiled to herself, loving the feel of the cooler man. He laid soft kisses on her shoulder and neck before reaching her ear. "I know why you always come back to my bed," he whispered tauntingly, showing how much of a child he still was.

"Oh?" she grinned and rolled over to meet him.

"Yes, you want power, like all the others. You aren't any different," still, he smiled fondly.

She laughed gently, "And yet you do not lock the doors and shut the windows to my approach. But you are not too far off. I do love my husband, and I love you. But this is a power grab within the country itself, yes? You make it so easy."

"That's because I believe you have good blood," he replied with that childish stiff upper-nose, "Your blood is right to lead. Ivan is insane. We need a better ruler, one with better blood."

"Oh," she cooed, playing with his hair teasingly, "so I am on you high list."

"Yes."

"Then you know what I want."

"You name to be revered throughout all of Russia."

"Can you do that?" she asked, suddenly doubtful.

He giggled, "Yes, but it isn't something to be taken lightly. You would have to become one with me. A literal _part_ of the land. If something goes wrong, however, you could very well die from the stress it places upon your body. But by doing so, I can fully promise to you that Russia will die in the name of the Romanovs."

"And can I hold you to your word?" her arms slipped around his neck and she pecked him chastely on the lips.

"Once it is done, there is no going back."

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_1560_

Fires raged across Muscovy and Ivan fell ill with the high fevers that accompanied it. Still, he forced himself to stay active, despite how bad it got. His face would be flushed with the heat and violet eyes glaze with the sickness. At first, Anastasia was fine. It seemed her body may be able to handle the stress of disaster, but, as though spoken too soon, she too fell ill. Tsar Ivan would sit beside her for hours, wishing the nation away, who was all too happy to go. He had never felt a part of himself die away . . . until now. He could feel her fading and knew before her husband of her death.


	3. The Romanov Blood

**A/N: Hope you enjoy this chapter. A few more will be placed shortly.

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Four years after the death of the Tsarina, the Tsar of Terror abandoned the people, the county, his closest advisor, and friend to suffer the harsh blows of General Winter alone. He abdicated his throne and fled the country. No one was to take the Tsar's place. After the horrible time lost and alone, he formally pleaded for Ivan VI to return. Two days after he arrived back in Moscov, the terror began anew and blood stained the streets of the Kremlin.

The years following the second Reign of Terror and the second invasion of the Mongols, Ivan had begun marrying and remarrying. He had even looked to England for a spouse; it was becoming ridiculous. What Muscovy didn't understand was the hypocrisy since his wives were not exactly the best women on the planet, and even Ivan locked the doors of his room to keep them away, but the Tsar believed he could tell his daughter-in-law such rude things and treats her so badly because she did not meet his distorted expectations. The Tsesarevich, Ivan Ivanovich, was not happy, and it did not help as she suffered a miscarriage.

In the argument that followed, Ivan Ivonovich, heir to the throne of Muscovy, was beaten in his father's rage and killed from the head trauma.

Then March 15, 1584, Ivan the Awesome died and the pains of the land seemed to end, that is, until the Time of Troubles.

At one point in this downward spiral, an outright impostor took the thrown. At the Time Muscovy was too weak to actually see him, but once meeting the charlatan, he could rightly say this man was _not_ the heir to the throne. As such, they killed the liar, burned his corpse, stuck the ashes in cannon, and sent him back to Poland. That _was_ the way to do it: Russian Style.

Still, things did not get any better. Revolts and raids in the south, Sweden from the north, and Poland from the west all pushed in on the smaller country. It didn't take long for the Commonwealth to capture Moscow. They didn't stop there, but imprisoned the Russian Patriarch, a Romanov, in the Kremlin dungeon. As his last plea to the people, he begged them to save Muscovy. Save Russia.

Two years to that call, Moscow was freed from Polish control due to the combined efforts of all Russians in Muscovy. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Ivan felt power coursing through his veins. And as his first decree, they needed to find an heir to the throne. One who had relative ties to Ivan the Awesome. That is what brought back his promise to Anastasia. A Romanov shall sit upon the throne, and the one he set his eyes on was young Mikhail who could be no older than the nation looked, that being between the ages of fifteen to eighteen.

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Ivan stepped into the monastery and found young Mikhail reading a book by the window. They had been asking him to take the throne for a while now, they being the Boyars. Every time, he would refuse and retreat to his room. Now it was Muscovy's turn. He cleared his throat and the boy looked up abruptly before scowling.

"Not another noble. Haven't I denied enough or not?" he demanded, slamming the book shut, "I don't want to be Tsar."

Ivan smiled gently, "I am not a noble Mikhail, but I am here to beseech you to take the throne. After me, there may be more, or there may not. But _I_ was the one who noticed you. I made a promise to the late Anastasia Romanovna that her family name shall be the one who would bring Muscovy to great power and Russia would die in her name. You are the one who will make that promise come true."

Mikhail blinked rapidly, "Th-that was so long ago. That's impossible," he regained composure, "You are no older than me, actually you look younger. And Ivan the Awesome was married into my line sixty-six years ago! You should be some old man, not youth. Who are you?"

"I am the people, the government, the land, the country. I have many names, Muscovy, Ivan, but most commonly known as Russia," he smiled brightly, "And as the country, I cannot die. And sixty-six years seem almost as a few minutes. But I am here to ask you to take your place as Tsar and my ruler. It is in your blood, rour strong, ambitious blood. You will do great things for your people: you, your child, and your child's child. They will bring power and make the country strong."

Mikhail didn't know whether to believe him or not, but he was right. And this was the carrot that he had feared. Ultimate power. It pulled him in, but he was a tactful person, bred for nobility after all.

"I'll think about it."

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And at the placement of Mikhail Romanov to the seat of Tsar, the world seemed to become even a little bit brighter.


	4. Sofia's Curse

**A/N: Short chapter is short .**

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After the death of Mikhail and the vast expansion to the Pacific Ocean under the rule of his son Alexei Mikhailovich, Ivan decided to formally call himself Russia, since he was no longer centered around his capitol of Moscow. But his troubles weren't over just yet.

Alexei had two families with two different women, both of whom Ivan kept at a far distance, but the children he was most interested in. From the first wife Maria Ilyinichna Miloslavskaya there were thirteen children, two of which were of serious note. Even though Alexei Alexeevich was to be Tsar, he was unfortunate enough to never make it. Ivan V, but he was truly of little note due to his death compared to the Tsarevna Sofia. She was a power hungry woman, educated beyond what woman should be, or that was what men thought; Ivan being one of them. She was manipulative and well versed in politics. More than once she forced herself upon him to gain power ahead of her brothers Ivan V and Peter. And Peter was whom Russia wanted, he was meant to be, he could feel it in his heart. Peter was the rightful heir and at the age of ten he would be titled Tsar if it had not been for Sofia.

It was a dark day when they buried Fyodor, and everyone was solemn for their leader's death, but this was a prime time for the Tsarevna to plow ahead. As the reception was ending, Ivan could hear her whispers.

"People, see how our brother Fyodor is suddenly gone from this world? His enemies have disposed of him."

The people reacted violently, even against the will of the country. The army split and rouges went after the royal family; Peter's family. Sofia forced the boy to witness his family and close family friends get murdered.

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Sofia dragged the ten year old boy out for the hundredth time it seemed. He and Russia had been sitting together, the country (who now appeared twenty or so at this time) was reading to him. He felt it was his fault the boy was plagued with these terrors and wanted to drown them out the best he could. But Sofia held contempt for his coddling of the child.

"Stop babying the boy! He is the Tsesarevich, yes? Treat the boy as a man," she hissed before pulling him away.

Ivan stared after the two, his heart felt pained as he could sense the aguish of his chosen heir. Quickly he followed after them. On the way down the hall, Sofia spotted him approaching, "Leave us! This isn't for your eyes, just Peter's."

"As he is the rightful heir to the throne, I will be here with my ruler. But of course, _you_ wouldn't understand that Sofia," he snapped back. The anger could be seen bubbling in her eyes, but she said nothing. The procession continued for three days, and when it ended, Peter was crowned as the _second_ Tsar of all Russia. Sofia was the mind behind the throne. This was upsetting to Ivan; this wasn't how it was meant to be and he voiced his opposition openly. Peter was the one and only power and heir to the throne.

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After one of their angry nights together, Sofia lay in the bed as Ivan sat distantly in the chair.

"You are a disgusting woman," he glared, his hands clasped before his chest in a stiff posture.

She snickered menacingly, "And yet I am what you looked for. My blood is strong, is it not?"

"No. It is wicked. I want strong, righteous, holy blood. Yours is from the deepest pits of hell that even the devil will not wander. And your games shall end. You shall be left alone and your reign shall come to a lonely, dark end in a convent where you shall pine away to your death," he hissed.

Her eyes flashed. She knew he had the power to do it then and there with the will of Peter, but slowly relaxing. He was too human, too tangible. And above all, _not a priest_. "Say your curse of words you ungodly piece of land, but I have nothing to fear from you."

His lips twisted into a devil's grin, "Not _yet_ Tsarevna."


End file.
